


The New Order

by dracox_serdriel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Coma, Established Relationship, F/M, Major Illness, POV Multiple, Planetary Politics, Post-Canon, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Reylo - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:11:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracox_serdriel/pseuds/dracox_serdriel
Summary: Set two years after the events ofThe Last Jedi, Kylo Ren now rules as the Emperor of The New Order. A Reylo fanfic.





	The New Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of the Emperor.

Kylo swept through the corridors, his long gait and heavy step announcing his frustration in no uncertain terms. He'd spent the better part of the day dealing listening to the insufferable excuses and paltry placations of planetary representatives. Just recalling their carefully selected words was enough to send his shoulders to his ears, tight with suppressed fury. 

He'd wanted to slice them in half with his lightsaber and return their corpses as a message, but he resisted the urge. For now, anyway.

He took a deep breath and emptied his mind, focusing on the present moment. The cold metal walls reduced his agitation with every step he took towards his quarters. He rolled his shoulders back, willing the tension away, if not the anger. By the time he'd reached his door, he had regained his composure.

This was the one time of day - and he made sure it happened every single day, without exception - that no one aboard the _Finalizer_ would interrupt him. For a single, precious standard hour, he wasn't the Emperor, just a man named Kylo Ren.

He stepped into his quarters and made quick work of his outerwear: gloves, boots, and long coat. He proceeded across his oversized quarters to the farthest room from the door, his bedroom.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he saw ZZ-2 exit without comment out of the corner of his eye. Normally the droid went unseen, and Kylo made a mental note to have ZZ-2 evaluated for repair.

But that didn't slow his approach to the bedside crib. He wasn't surprised to find his son awake; the child's Force signature gave that much away. It was odd, however, to find the boy sitting quietly, for it was his want to stand on the edge and jump as his father approached.

Well, perhaps "jump" was the wrong word. It was more like exuberant bouncing. At first Kylo tried to discourage it, worrying he'd fall and hurt himself, but there was no talking sense to an eight month old. And, despite his best efforts, Kylo wasn't much of a disciplinarian.

Reymond looked up at his father, his eyes wide and sleepy. 

This wasn't like him at all. Was he ill? No, _no_ , he had been inoculated for everything in the known galaxy by the time he was six months old, regardless of medical experts that argued that plagues in the farthest corners of the outer rim weren't a threat. As far as Kylo was concerned, any enemy he couldn't slay with his lightsaber was exactly that - a _threat_ \- to his son. The Force afforded him many abilities, but even he had no way to detect dangerous microorganisms until it was too late.

Before the tide of parental concern could sweep him away entirely, little Reymond reached up both hands, his  
expression pitiful and pleading. 

Unable to deny him anything, Kylo reached down and lifted him into his arms, where Reymond seemed content to nuzzle against his chest, his usually energetic antics muted into a somber seeking of comfort. Kylo cradled him in one arm like a babe and placed his right cheek on the boy's head, unsure of what prompted so mellow a mood. He gently probed his son's mind and sensed no sign of sickness, only sleepiness.

Ah, there it was. Reymond had refused his nap, instead waiting on his father's return all day, standing like a sentry until he was too tired to continue. The mere thought was enough to turn Kylo's stomach with guilt.

But he had an empire to see to, and for now, that couldn't be helped.

His son, now too tired to play, simply stared up at him in rapt attention, as if the universe was only right when his father held him. Kylo carried him into the next room and sat on the couch, hoping his son might rally once his toys were in reach. But the change in surroundings garnered no such reaction, so he settled in for a quieter evening than he expected.

As a thousand times before, Kylo's eyes fixed upon the boy's face, cataloging every feature: large, brown eyes; large ears; full, deeply-colored lips; and a full head of ebony hair. He was the spitting image of his father, and Kylo loved their shared visage, the undeniable proof of their blood tie.

But on bad days - and this was undeniably one of them - a part of him hated it. He hated that his son was a perfect facsimile of himself with so very little of his mother. The only evidence of Rey was the boy's nose, and even that was tainted by Kylo, its size and shape equal parts his and hers.

He knew this was his son; a simple blood test could've easily proven it, though there was no need, for he sensed their connection through the Force. Kylo didn't need to see himself reflected in Reymond, and on bad days, he wanted - no, _needed_ \- to see Rey in their son. He wished Reymond had her hazel eyes, her button nose, her brown hair, her lips... their son should've been the spitting image of his mother. But instead of seeing her in their child he could only see himself. 

And on days like this, he hated that.

A quiet chirp alerted him to the return of ZZ-2, the modified medical droid entrusted with monitoring his son's health. It was the sole survivor of a hundred units he commissioned for the task. Most were destroyed because they failed advanced security evaluation or succumbed to some kind of hacking. The rest either mishandled his son or produced truly obnoxious noises. ZZ-2 was the only one that had the security, the programming, and the manners - for want of a better term - required for the position.

Still, it was ZZ-2' job to collect Reymond after their nightly father-son bonding time. On days like these - the ones where he could not put his son to bed because of the demand of duty - it was the _only_ time he had with his son. It took every bit of reason in him not to lash out at the inoffensive reminder that their time together was over for the night.

He looked down at his son, wondering where the time had gone. It felt as if he'd only just sat down with him... but, given how tired Reymond was, perhaps it was for the best. If he slept well tonight, perhaps they could steal a few minutes together in the morning.

"Good night, little one," he said. "Sweet dreams."

He cupped Reymond's head with one hand, reinforcing the protective Force barrier surrounding his mind. Kylo had been manipulated and tortured for nearly all his life, and that had begun with his tormenter setting up an outpost in his mind by infesting his dreams.

That wouldn't happen to his son. He had risked everything - taken the most extreme measures - to ensure it.

He placed Reymond into the cradle in ZZ-2's waiting arms and watched the droid trundle off to his bedroom.

Kylo wanted to follow after them, change into his sleepwear, and put his son to bed himself. In the normal course of things, that would be exactly what he did, but his countless meetings had brought up issues that couldn't be left until the morning.

It was so tempting to avoid his duties just this once, but he knew that acting on such an impulse would make the next time twice as hard.

As he rose to his feet and donned his boots, gloves, and overcoat, he wondered idly how Reymond managed to remain awake through his entire nap and the hours after.

As he stepped outside his quarters and the door closed behind him, he set that thought aside. In there, he was a man named Kylo Ren, but out here, he was the Emperor of the New Order.

* * *

Kylo remained in his office until midnight reviewing tedious reports, gritting his teeth.

Snoke had allowed The First Order to rot from the inside by focusing on ends without sparing a care to the means: mine more ore, fill the coffers, maintain the trade routes, bring that system to heel, crush the Resistance. Those who met his orders faced no scrutiny or oversight, allowing oligarchs and warlords to abuse their power without the slightest bit of fear.

At the time, Kylo was too caught up with his apprenticeship, with what he thought was his mission, his destiny... he didn't see the festering wounds. On rare occasion, Snoke would justify allowing something he openly denounced - genocide or slavery, for example - as necessary for the destruction of the taint of the Jedi and those who foolishly supported them. It was an easy lie to sell Kylo after his uncle's heartless betrayal.

He wasn't entirely naive. He had known that the prolonged conquest of the galaxy forced The First Order to employ pirate, war criminals, and others of their ilk. But he hadn't realized how deep the rot went until he ascended as the Supreme Leader.

It had been so deep that here he was, a year later, losing sleep and previously trustworthy agents to that same corruption. His only reliable source of intelligence was the Knights of Ren, currently stationed for espionage, and their reports proved that his newly appointed agents were either incompetent or compromised. _Again._

Perhaps it would be easier to start over on each offending planet by killing anyone in power, ending those special interests at the root.

He was halfway to putting in orders for just that when he caught a reflecting of himself in a rounded edge, the shape making the scar on his face disproportionately large. He swallowed hard as he reached for the panel to contact his generals, but his fingers stopped before he could tap the com. 

Whatever his decision, it shouldn't be made now. He couldn't afford to be rash and impulsive.

What he really needed was someone with a strong sense of justice, sound reasoning, and strong morals to advise him. Of course, there was no such person at his beck and call. At least, no one who would talk to him. 

Resigned, he shifted his hand to the next panel and buzzed his dedicated medical bay.

"Yes, Emperor?" Medical Officer Vera asked.

"I will be arriving in ten standard minutes," Kylo said.

"Very well, Emperor. How long will you be staying?"

"I don't know."

He turned on his heel and left his office. He never let himself develop a routine route to his quarters nor the medical bay in the same corridor, switching up the floors and halls as much as possible. But tonight he retreaded his footsteps, too weary to consider caution. 

"Emperor Ren," Medical Officer Vera said as he entered. "Everything is prepared. Medical droids are scheduled to double check vitals on the hour, but if you'd - "

"No," Kylo interrupted. "Let them work. Leave us."

She nodded and left without another word, disappearing into her office.

He walked over to the only occupant; the sole reason he had spent a small fortune on changing an entire corridor into a medical bay. It was the only way to meet her needs and keep her close.

He sat down in the well-worn visitor's chair and took Rey's hand, hoping that she might turn to him or open her eyes. But of course she didn't. She couldn't. 

He glanced at the countless monitors around her, and like every night before, saw there was no change in her vitals. It was a needless distraction. Had Rey woken from her coma, he would've felt it. He would've sensed her consciousness rising in the Force.

For the past eight months, he had longed for nothing else.

At first, Kylo had come to her every night with news of their son, hoping that it might snatch her back from the brink. After a while, he expanded into problems of state, hoping she might wake up and tell him he was being a kriffing idiot. 

After the first three months, though, he had found it more and more difficult to see her like this, unconscious in a bed with tubes everywhere. Her once golden skin had paled from lack of sun and illness, and from time to time, her breathing distressed. He started visiting less and less.

He swallowed hard when he realized that he hadn't seen her in a week. That was too long... far too long.

They had a lot to catch up on. He took a breath and began to tell her about Reymond's newfound resistance to napping.

How long he stayed by her side, talking to her as if she could hear him, he couldn't say. But by the time he returned to his quarters, he had hardly three hours of sleep before his alarm.


End file.
